


Comfort

by startwithsparks



Series: MMOM 2014 [7]
Category: Deadpool (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rise of HYDRA throws Bob into a minor tailspin and the only one who's ever been able to bring him back around again is his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

Wade's rubber ducky bobbed idly along the surface of the water, its wide plastic smile a pleasant comfort next to Bob's partially-submerged leg. He'd been in the bath long enough now that the water had gone past lukewarm and well on its way to cold and his fingers and toes were wrinkly and water-logged. But getting out meant leaving the bathroom and going back to the real world, to the chaos of the way things were now. He just wanted a few more moments of being able to lock himself away from all of it and pretend it wasn't happening, and the quiet, pale light of the bathroom was the only place he felt enough solitude for that.  
  
He wasn't really part of HYDRA anymore, he hadn't been for a long time, and he'd almost died enough times in the past few years trying to outrun them that surely they had just given up on him completely. He hadn't even been that great of a soldier - he didn't have the stomach or the skills for it, and the only part of his training he had ever been good at was the running away and hiding stuff. He was all too eager to allow himself to be kidnapped when Wade showed up, though at times he'd thought of it as out of the frying pan and into the fire. Still, it was a place to go, and that's all he'd ever wanted anyway. Now everything had changed, HYDRA was out in the open and everyone was talking about it like they knew what it was really like to be part of such a massive, multi-layered organization. No one Bob knew while he was inside ever claimed to believe the propaganda, and he certainly didn't. But he worried, as anyone in his position might, how things were going to change for him now that HYDRA had come out of the shadows.  
  
To say it was stressful was the understatement of the year. Bob had all but shut down since the news broke, made worse by the fact that every channel seemed to be doing twenty-four-hour coverage on the fall of SHIELD and the organization that had arisen from its broken body. Hiding was what he knew best, though - so why not hide now too?  
  
It didn't help that Wade was probably the least sensitive and understanding person he knew. The only thing he had talked about the past few days was trying to get in good with the Avengers so he could help them round up the HYDRA agents who were now running amok across the globe. Bob agreed they'd be stupid not to solicit his help, no one knew HYDRA better or killed people more effectively than his boss did. But that didn't mean that hearing about how he was going to do it, in all the gory details, was doing much for Bob's overwhelming sense of hopelessness. He was going to get dragged along to help, and he'd go without complaint, but he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he ran into someone he knew. He wasn't sure he could kill someone he'd worked alongside for years, and he knew that made him a liability. The last thing he wanted to do was mess up something this important to Wade, and important to everyone else he admired.  
  
His only comfort in all this had been Weasel, who may not have understood what Bob was going through but at least listened to him in the rare moments that he opened up about it. He hadn't been able to count on a lot of people in his life, but he knew he could count on Weasel for that much. And it did help, a little bit, enough that Bob could get through the day without dwelling on those thoughts too much.   
  
Dwelling on it now wasn't going to do him any more good than it had before, though, and he wasn't doing himself any favors by sitting here flicking water at a rubber duck.  
  
Bob pushed himself up in the bath, water sloshing over the sides, and yanked the chain on the plug with his toes. He ambled out and into a towel emblazoned with Iron Man heads and finally unlocked the bathroom door. It took him a few more moments until he heard the gurgling of the water sucking down the drain before he forced himself out and into the living room. Wade had left some time ago to make a food run and the only sound was the faint crash and stutter of weapons from the other room where Weasel was playing Call of Duty. He padded quietly towards the back bedroom, the door slightly ajar, and pressed through making as little noise as he could.  
  
Weasel glanced briefly over his shoulder at the creak of old hinges before he swiveled back around towards the screens in front of him.  
  
"I'm going to have to call it a night," he said into his headset. "Try not to get yourselves killed without me."  
  
There was no hesitation before he turned off the game and pulled his headset off, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as he spun his chair towards the open door.  
  
"You didn't have to stop," Bob offered, fiddling with a small wooden catapult sitting on the dresser.  
  
"I know," Weasel shrugged. "Feeling any better?"  
  
Bob gave a weak shrug of his own and nudged the door closed with his foot. He wasn't sure how he felt anymore and didn't know if that was an improvement or not. Mostly he was just confused, which was a state he didn't enjoy being in one bit. He wandered slowly into the room and sunk down on the carpet in front of Weasel, angling his body between the other man's knees and resting his head against the arm of Weasel's desk chair. Weasel sighed softly and slipped his fingers through Bob's damp hair, twisting dark strands around his fingers.  
  
"If you want, I could take your mind off of things for a bit?"  
  
He tilted his head to rest his chin on Weasel's thigh and glanced up at him. "Maybe."  
  
Weasel smiled back at him, "I can't do it very well if you're all the way down there, though."  
  
With what was meant to sound like a long-suffering sigh, Bob pushed himself up to his knees and used the arms of the chair for balance as he dragged himself up and into Weasel's lap. It was a little awkward, both of them trying to fit in one wobbly desk chair and Bob being so much bigger, but he managed to arrange himself in the space available to him and easily drape a leg across Weasel's knee. Weasel reached up and slipped his hand along the back of Bob's neck, drawing him down and into a warm kiss. He moved slow, fingertips dragging idly along Bob's still-wet skin, for no other reason but to touch - at least until he started grazing his touch steadily lower, one hand still grasping the back of Bob's neck and the other fumbling for the edge of his towel. He finally loosened the fabric from where it was tucked tight around Bob's waist and cast it aside across his lap, fingers drawing down to Bob's thigh and along warm, damp skin.  
  
"Are we gonna do this here?" Bob murmured, breaking from the kiss just long enough to let the words out between them.  
  
Weasel shrugged, "That was the idea."  
  
"Mm-kay," he hummed softly, drawing away enough that he could dip his head down into the curve of Weasel's neck, eyes closed and fingers lightly curled in the other man's shirt.  
  
He was only too willing to forget everything for a while and let his boyfriend take care of him. It seemed like such a simple thing, but it made all the difference to him for those few moments when all the attention was on him. And it wasn't just Weasel's hand wrapped tightly around him, but the feel of lips against his forehead and the steady rhythm of their breathing not quite falling in sync. Weasel knew just how to touch him too, the right way to slide his fingers over sensitive skin and grip him just tight enough, the same way he would do for himself, only better. And if he was doing it for himself he couldn't cling to the front of Weasel's shirt or bury his face against the other man's neck to stifle the sound of his faint moans.  
  
He finished quicker than he would have liked, but all the tension of the last few days made it hard for him to think of any reason why he should hold back. It felt better to let go and, if only briefly, to forget about everything else beyond this room, and the feel of someone else's hands on his skin. It quieted his mind for a few moments and that was what he really wanted. The fact that Weasel knew how to do that, every time he needed it, meant more to him than anything. The thoughts would rush back in time and he would have to battle them down again, eventually he might even have to deal with them, but for now his heart was racing hard behind his ribs and his legs were tingling, and the only thing his mind seemed willing to process at all was how nice it felt to press closer and let Weasel drag a firm arm around his shoulders to keep him there.


End file.
